Cannonball
by BoundInSkin
Summary: Strange how one moment can shape a lifetime. Berwald's affectionate relationship with Tino is interrupted when he meets the enigmatic Lukas. SuFin, SuNor.
1. One

**Another multi-chapter story, this time featuring the Nordics. I have not forgotten about my other projects, but this came to me one day and refused to leave until it was written down in all of it's shabby, inconsistent glory. Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors, and I hope you enjoy! Title comes courtesy of Damien Rice's beautiful song.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, Audi, Microsoft, Oreos or Hobnobs. But I really wish I did.**

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At first, Berwald only sees him at doors.

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It's a cold, crisp Friday, the kind of day where the sky is so bright that it hurts to look at it. Berwald leans against his car and watches the students hurry past, bundled up in scarves and coats, with rucksacks and PE kits and eager faces, excited at the prospect of a weekend. By the time Tino appears, Berwald's fingers are numb. He has to breathe warm, moist air onto them before he can unlock his car.

Tino waves at him, then leans to whisper something to his companion, a serious-faced pale-haired boy whom Berwald recognises but couldn't name. He pushes himself away from his car as the two approach. "Hello, you," Tino says, his smooth face curved into a smile that makes his light blue eyes shine. Berwald bends down to give him the kiss that his upturned mouth and slightly-too-close position say that he wants. It's short, chaste, because although Berwald can't think of anything he wouldn't do for his boyfriend, he is intensely uncomfortable with such public displays of affection.

When Berwald pulls back, Tino gestures to his friend. "You remember Emil, right?" he says, and Berwald nods, because he does, sort of. "Well, we're supposed to be doing this presentation for psychology, but his computer is _ancient_ and you know what mine's like, it doesn't even have Microsoft PowerPoint – so I was thinking, could we maybe use your laptop?" Berwald glances at Emil, whose hands are shoved into the pockets of his dark red padded coat. He looks back, his pale grey eyes uncommonly intense.

"Sure," Berwald murmurs, and Tino makes a happy noise like a little child. He usually travels in the passenger seat of Berwald's Audi, but today he grabs Emil by the arm and they both pile into the back. Berwald slips into his place behind the wheel and watches them for a moment in the rear-view mirror. When Tino leans forward and says, "Aren't you going to drive?" he finally takes the handbrake off.

Berwald's house is cold and empty, but as soon as Tino and Emil enter, tugging off their scarves and talking (Tino in his loud, enthusiastic voice and Emil in his softer, unhurried one) about the physiological method and dream psychology and Sperry – which just makes Berwald think of skerry – the place feels alive.

They abandon their bags in the hall and rush off towards the living room, where Tino knows his boyfriend keeps his laptop. Berwald follows at a slower pace, carefully removing his boots and hanging his coat in the cupboard before heading through himself. They're sitting on the sofa, the computer balanced on Tino's knees. "Is your password still the same?" he asks as Berwald bends at the fireplace.

"Yes," the older one says, and there's the sound of clacking keys as Tino types it in. Berwald lights the fire and straightens up too abruptly, wincing as something in his back cricks. He stands there for a moment, letting the heat seep into his bones. "Do your parents know you're here?" he asks as he turns around to face the boys. Emil fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a slim black phone.

"I'll text my brother," he says. He smiles, then, and it completely changes his flat, serious face. It becomes animated, becomes attractive. "Thanks for letting me come over," he tells Berwald, who thinks that he might start to like him. He wasn't sure, at first.

He takes an order for hot chocolates and goes off to make them, as well as a mug of strong coffee for himself. Tino's is loaded with the cream and marshmallows that Berwald only buys because he likes them, whereas Emil's is dark, almost bitter, just the way he asked for it. When he carries them through on a tray with Oreos and Hobnobs, they both grin, and Berwald feels more like a father than a boyfriend as the others grab cookies and blow on their drinks to cool them.

They spend a warm, comfortable afternoon like that, with the firelight dancing on the walls and Emil curled up on the sofa with his socked feet tucked underneath him. Berwald sits in the leather armchair with his economics textbook, half reading and half listening to Tino's cheerful voice. When the doorbell rings it sounds like an alarm, shattering the cosy haven that they have created. Berwald runs a hand over his face – he was almost asleep – and rises unsteadily to his feet. The boys barely look up as he goes past.

The door is old, made of heavy oak, and it takes a little effort to open. When Berwald yanks it towards himself he is hit by a gust of icy wind that makes him recoil slightly. Then he focuses on the person waiting on his doorstep, and without even realising it he moves forward again.

There's something of Emil in him, in his wide-set eyes and high cheekbones, but the pointed nose, the full lips, the soft blonde hair that sticks to his forehead and curls over the edge of the dark blue scarf pulled up to his chin – these things are different. "I'm here for Emil," he says. His voice has a curiously flat quality to it.

"Come in," Berwald says. The stranger's noise and cheeks are tinged pink from the cold. He's sharply, painfully handsome. He hesitates, though, as if he's nervous despite the blank expression on his face.

"Are you Tino?" he asks. Berwald shakes his head, fingers digging into the wood of the door that he is still clutching.

"I'm Berwald. His boyfriend." He steps back, a clear invitation, and the one who must be Emil's brother shuffled inside. Berwald has a mirror on the wall, propped above a low chest, and he sees the guy catch a glimpse of his reflection in it. He quickly looks away, thin fingers moving to tug the scarf a little further over his jaw. Emil's brother glances up suddenly and catches Berwald watching him. They stare at one another for a minute, blue eyes into green.

"Lukas!" Emil's voice is more excited than Berwald has heard it so far, and it makes his head jerk around. The pale boy is standing at the entrance to the lounge, smiling.

"Emil. We have to go," his brother – Lukas, Berwald reminds himself, his name is Lukas – says. Emil nods, comes out into the hall and reaches down to collect his school shoes.

Lukas touches his arm, whispers something to his brother that makes Emil flush. The younger boy turns to Berwald and says somewhat stiffly, "Thankyou for letting me stay."

Berwald nods at him. "It's fine. You're welcome here again." He's a little surprised to find that he actually means it.

"See you on Monday," Tino says. Berwald didn't even noticed him leave the living room, but he must have, because he's leaning against his boyfriend's side now. Berwald feels a shudder of guilt when he smiles at him, as though by merely noticing another man's looks he has committed infidelity.

Lukas picks up Emil's rucksack as the younger boy shrugs into his coat. "Thankyou for your hospitality," he says, but before Berwald has time to reply he's gone, crunching across the gravel towards his car with Emil hurrying after him.

"Emil's brother's a bit odd, isn't he?" Tino says cheerfully when the door has been closed.

"I didn't notice," Berwald lies. Tino chuckles, pokes him in the side.

"I've completely abused my privileges today, haven't I?" he says, and presses himself against the taller boy, "I think the presentation's good, though. So thanks." He runs his tongue over his mouth. "Do you want a reward?"

Berwald looks down into light blue eyes and sees another, darker pair. He swallows. "I have to make dinner," he says, "My father will be home in an hour."

Tino pulls away, pulls a face. "You're no fun," he says.

Berwald runs his fingers through the smaller one's soft hair. "Maybe not," he tells him, "But I do make a perfect hot chocolate."

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	2. Two

**Updates are, and will always be, erratic. Thanks to everyone who has favourited/subscribed to/reviewed this story so far.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers. **

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Berwald sort of hopes that Tino and Emil will drift apart when the presentation is over. It's a thought that sends a trickle of guilt down his spine, because Emil is quiet and peaceful and _nice_, but it persists. Sometimes, when Berwald is washing plates at the sink or filling in paperwork or completing another inane, mindless task, he finds himself thinking about Lukas, about his thin fingers and endless eyes, and that has to stop. With Emil gone, their weak but persistent connection would be severed, and Berwald could return to being the focused, dedicated boyfriend that Tino deserves.

It doesn't happen, though. If anything, Tino and Emil become even closer. Berwald sees them around school sometimes, heads bent low as they talk, or struggling through corridors loaded with rucksacks and folders and all the other crap that diligent AS level students lug around with them.

Since they started dating, almost a year ago now, Berwald and Tino have had an unspoken agreement that they will limit their interaction at school, because they both need to focus on their studies, and although most of the people there are fairly gay-friendly, not everyone would be too pleased if they caught them necking in the cafeteria. Not that they do much necking, anyway.

Most of the time the arrangement works out perfectly – Berwald spends a lot of time in the technology block, anyway, and their classes don't match up – but now that Tino and Emil seem to have become joined at the hip, Berwald finds himself regretting it. It's difficult to see them being so familiar with each other, when he has to satisfy himself with vague smiles and brief, occasional greetings.

And even this makes Berwald bury his head in his hands, because he swore he'd never play the jealous, possessive boyfriend role, and he's such a filthy hypocrite. How can he resent Tino and Emil's high-fives and linked arms, when he's woken up three times now with another name on his lips and a sweaty, damp reminder of his betrayal beneath his duvet?

They go ice-skating, the three of them, because it's something of a tradition for Berwald and Tino, and apparently Emil loves it. He's good, too – good enough to float off the minute he's finished fastening his clunky shoes. He slides across the ice, his movements perfectly controlled, his strides surprisingly powerful for someone so small. Berwald doesn't want to like him, but as he glides smoothly towards them their eyes meet, and Emil's grinning like a little kid, and he can't help but smile back. Tino's unsteady on the ice, so he clings onto Berwald's arm with a grip just tight enough to hurt, and the older one steers them both around a few times. Tino rests his head against his shoulder, and when Berwald looks down at him he is struck by a sudden, silly urge to kiss his nose.

He doesn't, of course.

Afterwards they retreat to the café for lukewarm fries and milkshakes that make Berwald's teeth ache, and the boys launch into a discussion of Christmas movies that Berwald – who doesn't even own a DVD player – is completely baffled by. They reach 'It's a Wonderful Life' and when Berwald tentatively offers that he has never seen it all the way through they both stare at him as though he has four legs.

"That's insane," Tino says, "It's the ultimate festive film. Your life isn't complete without it." He looks so serious that Berwald almost laughs.

"I'll have to take your word on that," he tell him. Tino exhales through his nose, shaking his head as if he still can't believe it.

"No you don't," Kristian says, reaching over the table to snatch a fry from Tino's plate, "I have it at home. We could go and watch it. If you want."

Tino claps his hands, delighted, and starts gushing about how incredibly awesome that would be. Berwald stares at the grease-streaked red tabletop. If they went to Emil's house, Lukas might be there. He told himself that he never wanted to see Emil's brother again, but now that the possibility has arisen he feels a sick, strange excitement spreading through his veins. It might help, he reasons, to see Lukas at home, in his natural habitat. It would make him more real, more tangible, less intriguing.

Before he knows what's happening their back in his car, and Emil is directing him onto the dual carriageway, and there are lorries rushing past them and red lights flashing. That's what his mind must be like – the same sort of organised chaos.

Emil lives in a tidy detached house, identical to the ones on either side save for the pretty front garden. Berwald's never been good with plants, but he identifies a couple of rose bushes and what might be a buddleia as they wait for Emil to retrieve his keys. It's below freezing today, the air so thick with mist that he can barely see his car from the doorstep. Beside him Tino shivers, and presses against his side. Berwald touches his hair, but he can't feel its softness through his gloves.

Emil finally pulls the key from his bag and rattles it against the lock, gritting his teeth when his numb fingers make him miss. He tries again, but just as the tip of the key fits inside the door opens, making Emil stumble.

Lukas is standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed. Berwald stops breathing to look at him. He realises, instantly, that the whole tangibility thing is bullshit, because Lukas looks even more ethereal than the last time he saw him. He's wearing loose pyjama bottoms and a baggy jumper, his feet bare and bony on the wooden floor of the hallway, and his cheekbones are stained pink.

"I thought you were at the hospital," Emil says, a touch of guilt clouding his speech. Lukas doesn't move back, doesn't let them in, even though the cold must have reached him by now.

"The appointment has been moved to Thursday," he tells his brother, his voice tight and flat, "There was a flu outbreak." His eyes seem darker today, or perhaps just duller. They flick over Berwald and Tino, then come back to rest on his brother.

Lukas doesn't look sick, or perhaps he does. Perhaps those hollow cheeks and sharpness aren't natural, after all. Or maybe the hospital appointment is for something innocuous, a hearing test or a blood donation, and Berwald is reading too much into it.

"We were going to watch a movie," Emil says. It sounds like an apology. Lukas stares at him for a moment, as if they're communicating silently, then sighs and turns abruptly away. He trudges off into the house and Emil shuffles inside without glancing at his guests.

They take off their shoes and coats in the dark, cramped hallway, and then Emil leads them through to the living room. Tino holds Berwald's hand, doesn't say anything. The television is playing, but the sound is muted. On screen two women mouth lost words at each other. The curtains are already drawn.

Emil fetches the DVD and slips it in, and the mood lightens, slowly, as they become immersed in the film. At some point Emil hurries off, returning with lemonade and crisps, and they murmur to one another at the best bits. Tino has curled up on the sofa, his head on Berwald's lap, and Emil sits on the floor next to his legs. Berwald has to admit that it's a good movie, and although there aren't tears in his eyes when it finishes, he does have a sense of warm satisfaction in his chest.

Tino is asleep. His pale eyelashes are splayed out against his cheek, and his hair has fallen forward over his face. Berwald brushes it back, gently, and shifts his legs. When he was watching in the film he didn't notice, but now Tino feels heavy on his thighs, and it's becoming uncomfortable. When he touches Emil's shoulder the boy doesn't respond, and he suspects that he might have dozed off, too. The room is dark and warm, and they were near silent during the last half hour of the film.

Berwald manages to slip out from underneath Tino's head without waking him. Sure enough, Emil's eyes are closed, and his mouth hangs open slightly as he breathes. Berwald stands there awkwardly, unsure whether he should wake them up or leave them to rest. The lemonade glasses are still on the side table, and he decides he might as well make himself useful by taking them through to the kitchen.

He doesn't know his way around this house, but he finds the right room behind the second door that he opens (the first leads to a tiny bathroom, with several photographs of pale, solemn-faced children blue-tacked to the wall). The kitchen is surprisingly light and airy, with a tiled floor and a large window looking out onto a tidy garden. He puts the glasses down on the counter, and then rinses them out.

As he turns to leave, something on the table catches his eye. He moves closer to get a better look. It's a forest, golden sunlight leaking through the canopy of leaves to dapple the floor below. The colours are rich, soft, and the contrast between the dark trunks and the light pouring down makes Berwald reach out towards it.

"Don't touch that," a sharp voice says behind him. Lukas is standing there, wearing an entirely unimpressed expression. His longish hair is messy, one side of his face slightly redder than the other, and something about it makes Berwald suspect he has just gotten out of bed. "You'll get fingerprints on it." He goes towards the work-surface, his movements slow and languid.

"Did you take it?" Berwald asks. Lukas glances back, towards the photograph, and then (briefly) towards the man.

"Yes," he says. Berwald waits for more, but the other man reaches up to the cupboard instead. Tino was right when he said that Emil's brother was strange, but it's an engrossing sort of strangeness.

"It's beautiful," Berwald tells him.

"Yes," Lukas says again. He opens the cupboard, and then stills, looking back over his shoulders. "It was dusk. I waited for three hours to get that shot."

"It was worth it," Berwald says, staring at the photograph so that he doesn't have to look at the curve of Lukas' neck.

"I know." He reaches into the cupboard, takes out a mug, and puts it down. When Berwald glances over at him he's clutching the counter, and his eyes are closed. He looks as though he is in pain.

"Are you okay?" Berwald asks, after a long, silent moment.

"No," Lukas says through his teeth, more of a hiss than anything else. He walks – no, staggers – to a chair and sits down. He presses his palm against his forehead. Berwald studies the soft, strong line of his jaw. There's something wrong with him. There has to be.

"Can I do anything?" It comes out quieter than Berwald intended. It sounds too gentle, too intimate.

"The cupboard next to the fridge," Lukas says without opening his eyes, "Top drawer. I need you to get me the tablets in there." Berwald does as he is asked, retrieving the shiny silver packet. More than half of the pills have already been popped out. He studies the name written on the foil, but it doesn't mean anything to him.

Lukas takes out two round white tablets, swallows them dry. Berwald sits down on the seat across from him, unable to look away. He is confused, and hopelessly, irrationally worried.

"Thankyou," Lukas says after a minute. One of his hands is still at his head, but the other is lying on the table, white against the dark brown of the wood. When Berwald covers it with his own, he is surprised to find that Lukas' skin is warm.

They sit like that for some indeterminable amount of time, in the strangeness and the silence. Berwald thinks he can feel Lukas' heartbeat through his hand. He wonders if the other man can feel his.

Then- "Berwald?" someone says, far away, and the stillness is shattered. Berwald has pushed himself away from the table before he realises that he can't tell whether it was Tino or Emil who called his name.

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